One after another, bursts of Reiatsu erupted like a volcanic explosion, sweeping across the battlefield and shaking the hearts of every Arrancar present like a raging tide.
This overwhelming Reiatsu carried an unfathomable destructive force, evoking both awe and fear.
Just sensing its presence was enough to make many Arrancar hesitate, their will to fight wavering as they dared not provoke such power.
However, there was one exception—Grimmjow.
He locked his gaze onto the lazy figure atop the sand dune, and the fury in his chest burned even hotter.
"You've got to be kidding me..."
Grimmjow muttered through clenched teeth.
"If you're this damn strong, why do you keep hiding? Are you messing with me on purpose!?"
His eyes blazed with rage, as if they could reduce everything in sight to ashes.
It wasn't simply that Starrk was stronger than him that made Grimmjow furious.
What truly infuriated him was the sheer humiliation of being disregarded—being treated like a fool.
Starrk possessed such overwhelming strength, yet he always kept a low profile.
On the surface, he appeared indifferent, carrying himself with an air of laziness as if nothing in the world mattered to him.
This kind of pretense was unbearable.
It felt like a mockery, a slap in the face to someone like Grimmjow, who had fought tooth and nail for every ounce of power.
He had clawed his way to the top, battling countless enemies, devouring countless Menos, surviving through sheer will and determination.
And yet, here was Starrk—someone who concealed his true power, someone who didn't even bother to train.
Why the hell was he stronger?
What was the point of all Grimmjow's struggles, then?
Hearing Grimmjow's furious outburst, Starrk remained unfazed.
His gaze stayed indifferent, his lips curving into a faint, lazy smile as he replied in an almost careless tone—
"Because that kind of thing just doesn't matter."
His voice was calm, casual—completely unconcerned.
This guy really didn't know how to hold a conversation.
That detached attitude was like throwing a lit match onto dry tinder—igniting Grimmjow's rage into an uncontrollable blaze!
His eyes widened as he glared at Starrk, his chest heaving, his Reiatsu surging in an explosive wave.
Step by step, he marched forward, pushing through the suffocating spiritual pressure without hesitation.
"Continue?"
Starrk tilted his head slightly, looking somewhat puzzled by Grimmjow's actions. A trace of doubt flickered in his gaze, as if he couldn't understand why Grimmjow was so determined to fight despite the overwhelming difference in strength.
"If I say I'm going to challenge you, then I won't back down."
Grimmjow grinned, baring his sharp white teeth.
"In fact, this makes it even better—only the strong are worth challenging!"
He reached for his Zanpakutō and slowly drew it from his waist.
Watching Grimmjow's actions, Nelliel and Harribel exchanged glances, seeing the same helplessness reflected in each other's eyes.
Grimmjow was just like that—obsessed with battle and strength.
They had both been challenged by him more than once, and each time, it had been a headache. No matter how badly he was beaten, no matter how much he was left covered in wounds, Grimmjow always came back for another fight.
Starrk sighed deeply at the sight, then leaped down from the sand dune, his gaze turning cold as he locked eyes with Grimmjow.
Grimmjow didn't dare let his guard down for even a moment. He immediately raised his Zanpakutō, fully alert. No matter how stubborn he acted, he couldn't deny the immense threat standing before him.
...
In the distance, a towering structure pierced the desert sky.
At its peak, Masatsuki Aozaki and Aizen stood side by side, overlooking the endless expanse of sand below.
As the immense Reiatsu radiating from Starrk washed over them, Aizen gave a slight nod.
"You have a good eye. In terms of Reiatsu alone, No. 1 has already surpassed most captains in the Gotei 13."
"How did you learn about him and send someone to find him?"
Masatsuki Aozaki responded lazily, "Just rumors, that's all."
"Oh? Is that so..." Aizen said, his tone unreadable.
He had once ruled Las Noches, commanding the greatest force in Hueco Mundo, yet he had never heard of such a figure.
Masatsuki Aozaki glanced at Harribel and the others observing the fight below, then suddenly smirked with an amused glint in his eyes.
"Head Butler Aizen, I plan to flip the switch tonight, so you'd better be ready."
Aizen froze for a moment, a trace of confusion flickering across his face.
No wonder the Head Butler's duties were never clearly defined—so this was part of the job too?
He thought it was just about handling internal affairs...
At that moment, Aizen's fist clenched.
For some reason, he suddenly had the urge to punch the smug bastard standing beside him.
...
Meanwhile, in the vast desert, the battle between the two Espada had officially begun.
Grimmjow activated his Resurrección without hesitation.
His Zanpakutō flashed with brilliant light before merging into his body.
In an instant, his human form underwent a startling transformation, taking on the features of a humanoid leopard warrior.
Every swing of his claws left long streaks of Reishi in the air, as if they could tear the very sky and earth apart.
Yet, despite the ferocity of his attacks, Starrk remained unnervingly calm.
He didn't even activate his own Resurrección.
With casual swings of his long blade, he effortlessly deflected Grimmjow's relentless assaults one after another.
It wasn't arrogance—it was simply the vast difference in strength between them.
Starrk wasn't particularly skilled in close combat, but his sheer Reiatsu completely overwhelmed Grimmjow.
With such a crushing disparity in power, even if Grimmjow wielded a weapon as powerful as Ryūjin Jakka, it wouldn't change the outcome.
The battlefield was engulfed by waves of surging Reiatsu, rolling like an unstoppable tide.
Grimmjow moved swiftly, his form blurring like a prowling predator. He dodged, flipped, and darted across the battlefield, desperately trying to evade Starrk's deadly strikes.
But against such overwhelming power, he was gradually losing ground.
No matter how hard he fought, the wounds on his body multiplied, staining his form with streaks of blood.
His movements slowed as if an invisible weight were dragging him down.
Meanwhile, Starrk's speed only increased, striking like lightning.
With a single horizontal slash, his blade cut through the air with unparalleled force.
The wind howled, whipping through Grimmjow's now-lengthened hair, and the tip of Starrk's blade came to a halt just at his throat.
"I will become even stronger..."
Grimmjow clicked his tongue in frustration. He knew he had lost.
If Starrk had swung his sword down, he would already be dead.
Turning away, he released his Resurrección and left the battlefield.
He had lost—but he would never accept defeat!
That bastard didn't even need to use his Resurrección, and he was still this strong?
Watching the scene unfold, many of the Arrancar couldn't help but gaze at Starrk in awe.
Silently, they made a resolution—to train harder.
They didn't expect to become as powerful as Starrk.
But at the very least, they wanted to take a step forward—toward becoming Vasto Lorde.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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